


i (just) want(ed to)

by prowlish



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Self-Indulgent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-05
Updated: 2014-09-05
Packaged: 2018-02-16 05:37:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2257812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prowlish/pseuds/prowlish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Drift takes rejection badly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i (just) want(ed to)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [goodnyte](https://archiveofourown.org/users/goodnyte/gifts).



> The saga of weird titles continues because I suck at them.
> 
> I should probably have spent more time with this one but I've been poking at it for so long and I really just need to close my book on it, so to speak.
> 
> Also it's really just part of several self-indulgent things I've been writing over the past like... month, to make myself feel better. Lots of emotional shit and stress going on on my end, so I scribble on things like this during spare moments at work. :') Which means yeah, there's more shmoopy Drift shit on the horizon AS ALWAYS.

Drift’s ability to slip into one room or another in complete silence was truly admirable. Ratchet just wished he wouldn’t use it to sneak up on him while he was working -- especially when he was working at his desk, focused in on reports or patient files. One minute he was sitting quietly at his desk, the next thing he knew there was warm familiar arms snaking their way around his shoulders and in the peripherals of his vision.

 

A long sigh. “Drift…”

 

“Good evening,” he said softly, pressing a kiss to Ratchet’s helm.

 

“I’m busy.”

 

“You’re always busy.”

 

Ratchet’s mouth drew tight. Especially as Drift’s hands wandered over his chest plate. It was -- soothing, but distracting. And he _really_ needed to focus. But it became twice as hard as Drift throttled the idle of his engine to a low, comforting purr.

 

Scrap. If he kept this up, the kid would practically lull him into recharge!

 

“Drift,” he said, wearily, shifting back a little to face him. Drift apparently took this as an opportunity to shimmy in and slip into his lap. For the love of -- Ratchet couldn’t deal with this right now! “ _Drift_!” he admonished. Ratchet knew Drift could get frustrated with how much he worked, or his moderately less insatiable appetite, but this was ridiculous!

 

Drift smiled at him in that disarming way that he had. “Ratchet, calm down,” he said -- and of course, the soothing purr of his voice had the opposite effect on the medic. He growled, eve as Drift tried to continue. “I only --”

 

“I know what you _only_ ,” Ratchet said crabbily. “And I _told_ you I don’t got time for it.”

 

Drift flinched away, moving out of Ratchet’s lap like he’d been burned. And -- and this was the worst part about snapping at Drift; the wounded optics and hunched posture, like a kicked turbohound -- or the sometimes resolute air. Like he expected Ratchet to push him away. Which wasn’t what Ratchet wanted, but it was sure enough what he was succeeding in, especially when he got irrationally _more_ angry about the guilty feeling this all inspired.

 

But before Ratchet could process all of that, Drift was slinking away, his movements as silent as when he’d come in, except for the parting apology and a promise to leave the medic alone. And now it was still and quiet, just as Ratchet had wanted.

 

Except now he couldn’t focus at all upon the datapad he’d been so intent to get back to. Ratchet grunted, air blasting through his vents. All he could call up was the hurt look in Drift’s optics. He ground his jaw. The kid could handle him saying no, he had plenty of times before!

 

But that _look._ The dejected slump of his shoulders. It ate at the medic. That wasn’t normal.

 

What had he missed?

 

Ratchet tossed the datapad to his desk with a clatter, an irritated growl rumbling from his engine. This wasn’t going to work. He couldn’t concentrate on anything except Drift’s behavior and the fact that he’d let the damn fool kid wrap him around his fingers this way.

 

“Scrap.”

 

He stood and set the medibay doors to alert him of any entrance. First aid’s shift didn’t start for another few cycles, but he couldn’t ignore this.

 

It took him several breems to find Drift on an observation deck after exhausting his first guesses. (Drift’s quarters, _his_ quarters, Swerve’s…) Ratchet paused, staring into the dark room. I it weren’t for the ghostly reflective white of his plating, Ratchet might’ve missed him sitting there in the dark, watching the stars go past.

 

The medic sighed, stepped forward. “Drift…”

 

No reply. Not even a turn of the helm. Ratchet pressed his lips thin, closing the distance and sitting next to Drift. “Look, Drift, I know it’s not all that exciting, being with a rusty old medic, but -- ”

 

“I know what I got into, Ratchet.”

 

“Yeah, you keep saying that, but…”

 

“But…?”

 

“Well…” Ratchet gestured. “Here you are, pouting out a window.”

 

Drift was quiet a moment, though he watched Ratchet out of the corner of his optic. “And what is the appropriate response?”

 

“Well -- ” Ratchet fumbled. The kid had him there. “It’s just… I had to check on you. When you left, well -- you look like I’d shot your turbopup.”

 

Drift frowned, but he remained quiet. Then: “When have I ever interrupted your duty and not your overtime?”

 

The question made Ratchet pause and consider, and finally pick out a pattern that he’d never noticed: that Drift’s distractions and seductions had always taken place when he’d been several cycles into extra time. He’d never thought of it as “relief” from work so much as Drift missing his presence and interrupting his work for attention.

 

Funny how it was only _now_ that he realized how unfair that was to Drift.

 

Frag. Had that really all been about _him_? So to connect the dots for tonight…

 

Ratchet sighed, staring down at his lap. “I’m sorry, kid. I was always too cranky to put the pieces together.” Drift was still quiet, though his EM field was beginning to tingle against his again. “But still -- I don’t have quite as much rev to my engine as I used to. Not to say you aren’t inspiring as hell, but -- ”

 

Drift shook his helm, his field withdrawing instantly. Puzzled, Ratchet quickly rethought this. What had he missed this time? Then: “Why do you think I was trying to seduce you?”

 

Another of those long, considering pauses. _Oh_. Scrap. “I”m sorry. I just… I assumed.”

 

That didn’t seem to help. “Why?”

 

“What?”

 

“Why did you assume?”

 

There was something… Ratchet was trying to slot the pieces together again, and quickly. Drift looked away again, but not back at the stars. And then something clicked. “Drift.” Drift didn’t look. Ratchet reached out, fingers brushing along his cheek. “Drift, look at me.” It took a moment, but he finally did, and Ratchet framed his face with his hands. “You are much more than your company in the berth,” he said, voice rough but gentle.

 

Drift was still quiet, but he nodded. Ratchet blew a sigh from his vents and held the younger mech close, feeling Drift’s plating settle as their fields intermingled with a soft buzz. “This what you wanted?” he asked softly.

 

“Yeah,” Drift murmured.

 

Ratchet let out a soft hum, just holding him close for a while. It was breems before he spoke again, but the silence along the way was much more comforting. “Forgive a rusty old crankshaft?”

 

There was a soft laugh, which already lifted Ratchet’s spark, and Drift turned around to smile at him. “Of course.”

 

Ratchet allowed a private smile on his own lips and kissed the swordsmech tenderly.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> visit me on [@prowlish](https://twitter.com/prowlish) on twitter!! :)


End file.
